


The Demon of Christmas Presents

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, obligatory christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: It is. Not. NICE. Okay! It isn't.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	The Demon of Christmas Presents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sburbanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/gifts).



“It wasn’t.”

“I know, dear.”

Crowley’s brows lowered to grace the rims of his sunglasses. They were, for once, useful, as the glare from the snow was painfully bright.

“I mean it: it wasn’t _nice_.”

“It was terribly wicked of you,” the angel reassured him, stirring in a generous slug of brandy into his cocoa.

He was only accepting this because it was a) cold and b) cold. The warm drink plus alcohol would help. It was not because he liked it.

Crowley took the mug and curled his fingers around it, ignoring the fact that the sudden change in temperature was actually bordering on painful. He would not give the angel the satisfaction of wincing. Even if he allowed the scratchy blanket to wrap around his shoulders, and start to thaw out his ears, he would never admit he’d been hasty.

Hindsight being what it was, he could have been more circumspect. But he’d been filled with an unholy rage - er - sense of mischief, and had to act on it at once.

“Now those young ones will grow up knowing chaos and revolution and anarchy and not listening to what some bloody know-it-all politician and religious twat says.”

The angel was grinning. Behind the rim of his mug, he was grinning. “Terribly devilish of you. In fact, one might even say it was scandalously wicked.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “And showing them consumerism. And materialism. And making others jealous. Lots of bloody envy now, and paranoia.”

“You’ve done Hell a great service, Crowley.”

“It’s not even like it’s the right _time_ for bloody Christmas, anyway. So it _can’t_ count as good.” He did not have to justify it. Did not. Did not.

Outside, as the church bells rang, he could hear the delighted little shrieks of children who thought Christmas was cancelled until this morning. The confused mumbling of adults watching them tug one another around on sledges and rap loudly on toy drums, and bounce about on hobby-horses, and a myriad other things that a certain Cromwell would turn _purple_ with rage, if he saw.

“They’ll give you a commendation,” Aziraphale assured him. A little too gleefully.

He was evil. He was.

So there.

The cocoa was now palatable, and he raked his tongue over the surface to feel the ethanol burn. 

Bloody Roundheads. He’d like to see them down below, and he was sure that most of them would be before long. Maybe that would be his next mission…


End file.
